And Now For Something Completely Different
by axisofadorable
Summary: Just what it says on the tin. Rated M for maybe. Yaoi. Feels. EnglandJapan. !DrunkJapan.


AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

Alone again, Japan thought as he walked down the street. His polished shoes kept time to a rapid beat, not that he had anywhere to hurry to. He was just on his way home, to an empty house.

For the longest time, Japan had been happy alone. He had kept himself busy always. It was only lately that he had begun to feel old. Certainly he felt older than he looked. And when one felt old, one often felt alone.

Japan had begun to think that he might not like to be alone- and then he had realized that he had no idea how to be anything else.

How had he become so isolated?

Once he had been capable of more. He didn't make friends easily, it was true. He was shy, and reserved, and his shield of courteous formality could be taken as a rigidity or snobbishness by someone who did not know him well.

But he had ventured outside of his comfort zone more than once, and he had found that he liked the company of others.

He liked being pushed past his limits, liked trying to understand other cultures and other worlds.

Despite everything that had happened with China he still valued their time together as some of the most important of his life. Painful yes, but lessons without price.

And there had been an awkwardness, certainly, to his interactions with Greece, but he would not willingly have returned to the time before he knew that such a thing was possible.

And... hadn't he ventured even further in his feelings toward America?

Yet what had come of it?

Nothing.

Perhaps I was too slow, Japan thought. Perhaps America thought that I didn't want…

But it was no use wondering why.

There was no use to any of it.

Japan remembered cherry petals scattering America's blond hair, remembered a strange feeling in his chest, and he shivered and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he had returned to the empty street and to the sound of his own lonely footsteps.

There were still Italy and Germany, he thought, but the two were so bound up in each other that there was little room on the inside of their circle for him.

Too often of late he had found himself on the outside.

Perhaps he did not know himself what he wanted, but he knew that he didn't want that.

And he didn't want to go home to his empty house, to the little white dog that waited there, and the endless list of chores.

They were not enough, not tonight.

Japan wanted something more. Something that he did not have, something that he had never had.

Perhaps this was just a feeling that he needed to come to terms with, but if it was then he had never felt this way before, and he didn't like it.

His self-possession had deserted him, suddenly, and he felt cut adrift and a little frightened.

Now the sky was darkening and the streetlamps were coming on. A light rain began to fall, misting his black hair.

He had forgotten his umbrella.

What is happening to me, Japan wondered, wiping raindrops from his cheeks. Why am I so unhappy?

He had no experience with such things.

He had never been unhappy before, and therefore he did not know how to deal with it.

What did people do when they were unhappy?

Perhaps they called friends, he thought.

Almost certainly they found someone to talk to.

But he had no one, no one that he could trust with his innermost self.

What, then, did lonely people do when they were unhappy?

For some reason Japan thought of England, and the answer came to him.

They went out to drink, he thought. They drowned their sorrows. Not in the rain that was threatening, but in sake.

But he couldn't.

He had never drunk more than a bowl with his meal. He had never drunk it to get drunk.

Perhaps one didn't, with sake.

Americans drank beer, and the English too.

If he wanted to get drunk, truly drunk, perhaps he should go to America's place, or to England's.

Not America's, Japan thought a moment later.

America was really the root of it all, or at least his unresolved feelings regarding America.

Therefore America was the last person he should see right now, when he was feeling so lost.

That left England.

Things with England were a lot less ambiguous.

Japan had wanted to get to know England better, they had exchanged visits and he had thought that they might be growing closer- but then England had withdrawn, and Japan had let him.

It had been America for him from the start, and he thought that perhaps for it had been the same for England, too. Although England had never said anything, and Japan would never pry. It was not his way.

But he had seen the way that they were together- how America so determinedly went his own way, and how England watched him.

England pretended to be annoyed, but beneath that Japan thought that he was really just hurt. And maybe a little puzzled.

And America?

America was oblivious.

Which was just like him, after all, and nothing that Japan could resent him for.

Japan had realized after only a very short time with America exactly what America was like.

He had thought that he was prepared for the fact that America would never return, or even notice, any feelings that he might develop.

He had not thought to develop any feelings beyond a slight infatuation.

He had been a fool.

He had not thought a lot of things regarding America, things that in retrospect he should have thought- Not least of all that America would blithely spend time with him, and then just as blithely, stop.

This loneliness was not like Japan. And yet it wouldn't leave him. It found him as the raindrops did, and it touched him with small points of cold as they did.

I don't need him, Japan thought. I DON'T.

He didn't need anyone. He was self-sufficient. He always had been.

He was happy that way, and certainly he was safer.

But now it was all ruined, and America would never even know that it was.

And that he was the cause.

Except that he wasn't. It was all Japan's own fault, and he had no one else to blame but himself.

England's place, Japan thought. I'll go to England's place and I will drown my sorrows, and this strangeness will pass. I have lived too long to let something like this change me so deeply now.

Never mind that he knew that it could, and that the choice might not be his own to make.

It did not mean so much, and if it did, then he would not let it.

He was stronger than that, he always had been.

It was raining at England's, too. Japan thought that that was funny. The streets here smelled different, like wet macadam and exhaust, like hot fat and curry and cigarette smoke.

He missed the scent of rain-wet chrysanthemums from his own street, but he had come here for something different, hadn't he?

A pub. That was what they were called. He was looking for a pub.

In the end, he had to ask. He did not know what it would look like or how to find it, but he stopped a hurried traveler and sheltered for a moment beneath a massive black umbrella when the wrinkled old man gestured him close.

The directions were carefully given but hard to understand.

Japan wandered, several times thinking he had lost himself, until at last he saw the sign with the lion and the chaffinch.

'It's a bird, isn't it?' the old man had told him. 'A lion, see? And a bird. You can't miss it. Where's your umbrella, then?'

'I don't have one,' Japan had answered. He had felt embarrassed and inadequate for the fact, and he had hung his head.

His embarrassment only grew when the old man insisted on taking him to a 'shop' to buy one, and the shop had refused to take his yen in payment.

In the end the old man had bought the umbrella for him- a clear plastic one with a cheerful looking English goldfish on it, swimming as if in a bowl- and then sent him on his way with a pat on the back.

'You get to that pub, Johnny,' the old man had said. 'You look like you could use a pint or two.'

His name was Nihon, not Johnny.

Now here he was, stepping into an English pub, prepared to drink himself to happiness on English beer.

He was not dressed for it. He was still wearing his white uniform from the summit. It would smell like tobacco and spilled beer when he got home, and -like the pub smelled- of ketchup and fish.

He didn't care.

'I would like a pint,' he said to the barman. 'Actually, two.'

And then he remembered that he did not have any English pounds.

His resolve wilted.

'Wait,' he said, 'Actually, I changed my mind. I won't have anything right now.'

'Yes he will.'

The voice came from behind him, and Japan turned, startled, and looked into implausibly green, bright eyes beneath thick brows and disheveled yellow hair.

England was smiling a strange little half-smile, one that tugged one side of his mouth up and the other down.

He looked thoughtful, and perhaps a little challenging.

'I can't pay,' Japan whispered urgently.

'I'll pay,' England said. 'Two for him, and two for me.'

England got them a table at the back of the room, and a harried looking girl brought their pints over, all four in her arms. She didn't spill any on her bosom, which startled Japan with its magnitude. Blushing, he looked down.

'There you are, luv,' she said. 'Anything else for you?'

'Not just now,' England said. He picked up one of his pints and took a sip. The foam on top of the drink left a creamy mustache on his upper lip, after a moment he licked it away.

His eyes appraised Japan, Japan picked up one of his own pints in response and took a small, careful sip.

He nearly spit it out. It was bitter, and it was cold. It didn't warm him the way a bowl of sake did, served at room temperature and filling the mouth with heat.

But he swallowed it anyway, and then took another, larger gulp.

He meant to do this right.

'Drinking for a reason?' England asked.

It was not exactly prying, but still Japan's back stiffened. 'I fail to see what difference it makes why I am drinking,' he said.

'If I'm going to keep a man company while he drinks, I'd like to know that we're drinking for a reason we can agree on,' England said, mildly for England.

'You do not have to drink with me,' Japan began, but England cut him off.

'Oh, never mind. Just take another drink. I like the look on your face when you swallow it down.'

Was England making fun of him? Japan rather suspected he was. Defiantly, he lifted the glass and took another large mouthful. 'It's… different,' he said when he had swallowed it.

'You hate it,' England said. 'So why drink it?'

'I want to get drunk.'

Had he really said that?

It seemed he had. England's green eyes widened. 'Really?'

'Yes,' Japan said. 'Really.'

'Then I'm your man.'

England was true to his word. He kept buying pints for Japan and Japan kept drinking them. England did not drink more than the first two he had bought-

'Someone has to be sober,' he said, 'and it looks like it's me. Someone'll have to see you home, you know.'

'I can make it home,' Japan had declared, but now he was not so sure.

He had lost count of the pints, because the busty girl who brought them took the empties away each time she brought a new round.

The newest pint appeared on the table in front of him now, and Japan's eyes followed the jounce of the barmaid's blouse above it.

That really was quite remarkable, wasn't it?

He was quite certain, suddenly, that he had had enough.

'I don't think,' he said. 'I think I might… Oh my.'

'Is he alright, luv?' the girl asked England.

England leaned forward and examined Japan. 'I think so. I think he is quite alright. Aren't you, Japan?'

'Spinning,' Japan said. His head went sideways, quite without his meaning to, and leaned towards his shoulder. He sighed.

England stood up. Japan watched him, and for some reason the sight made him want to laugh. He watched England approach him, still with his head sideways, trying not to giggle. He had never giggled, and he wasn't about to start now.

But, 'I feel funny,' he said to England, and then he covered his mouth with his hand. That was almost as bad as giggling.

'I feel' was not something Japan ever said aloud. What he felt was internal, and not to be revealed to anyone except his closest intimates. It was certainly not something he spit out in a pub for everyone to hear.

'I think…' he said to England. 'I think I need to go home now.' He blinked and then added belatedly, 'I'm sorry.'

'Alright,' England said cheerfully, as if he had not heard the last. He held out his hand.

Japan stared at him, wondering what it was for. Then he realized.

'I can… I can get up by myself,' he said.

He was wrong. Halfway, he fell and England had to catch him. England's wiry arms were startlingly strong, Japan thought, and then he recoiled but England didn't let him go.

'Better hang on to me for now,' England said close to his ear. 'I'll call us a cab if you'll come with me to the phone box.'

'I have to go home,' Japan said.

'Uh huh,' England answered rather noncommittally, but Japan was too busy trying to make his feet obey him to notice.

They made it to the phone box, which was not very far. It was outside, and the rain was coming down harder now. It spattered their faces on a gust of wind, and Japan remembered his umbrella.

'I have…' he said.

Where was it?

'Here,' England opened the umbrella and held it over them both. The connotations of that made Japan blush, although he knew that England hadn't meant anything of the sort. England wouldn't understand why his cheeks were red, but even as dizzy and strange as he was feeling he was self-conscious enough to hope that England wouldn't notice them.

'I can't quite manage-' England said. With the umbrella in one hand and Japan in his other arm, he had no hand free to lift the telephone receiver.

Fumbling a bit, Japan reached it off the hooks and held it up to his own ear.

Then he paused. He didn't know what the number was to call a cab, or what you said.

'Please?' he asked.

'Here.' Leaning forward, England listed the numbers for him. His breath stirred Japan's hair. Japan's fingers trembled a little as he punched them in.

'Tell them you want a cab,' England said helpfully, still close to his ear. He gave Japan an address as the taxi company answered.

'I'd like a taxi, please,' Japan said to the dispatcher. His voice sounded perfectly calm and sober. He repeated the address and was told that a cab would be enroute quickly- 'Not too soon at all in this nasty weather, eh, ducks?' the lady said.

'Thank you,' Japan answered her. 'It's coming,' he told England. After a moment, he remembered and replaced the telephone receiver on its hooks.

'Good job,' England said. He might have been being sarcastic, Japan couldn't tell and his own natural courtesy caused him to respond as though the compliment had been genuine. 'Thank you,' he said again Another gust of wind caught their umbrella, and England's arm tightened around him.

The cab arrived almost as quickly as promised. Very soon Japan and England were squeezed into the back of it beside another wet and disgruntled traveler.

This was an elderly woman who looked at Japan disapprovingly and sniffed.

'HE'S had a drop,' she said.

'Or two,' England answered cheerfully.

He still had his arm around Japan, and now she looked at him disapprovingly too. 'You should know better,' she said.

'Should I?'

'I hope you're taking him home.'

'Oh, I am.'

'Not YOUR home. His.'

'Don't worry about us,' England said. 'We're old friends.'

'Are you taking me home?' Japan asked anxiously.

'Of course I am,' England said.

'Good.'

Somehow Japan had ended up leaning sideways. His cheek was against England's jaw, he realized. His eyes were trying to drift closed. He was close enough to smell England, who smelled of Yardley's Black Label cologne and a little bit- not unpleasantly so- of sweat and damp wool from his topcoat.

'I should go home,' he said sleepily.

'You will,' England said.

The cab stopped. England got out and paid the driver, and then he came back and collected Japan out of the back.

'Up we go,' he said.

'Put him to bed,' the old woman instructed.

'Oh, I will,' England said.

She sniffed again. 'Not YOURS. His.'

For some reason this made Japan giggle. He covered his mouth in horror and looked up at England in time to see England give that funny half smile again.

'Good night, luv,' England said to the woman, and closed the door.

'I can walk by myself,' Japan told him. It wasn't quite true, but he would do his best.  
'Never mind,' England answered. He kept his arm firmly around Japan as he guided him up the walkway.

On the doorstep he went into his pocket for a key.

'This isn't my house,' Japan said.

'No, it's not.' England unlocked the door.

'Is it yours?' Japan asked.

'Yeah.'

'The lady said-'

'I heard her. Come on in. Mind your feet.'

'I'm fine.' But he wasn't. He tripped over the lintel and England had to catch him again. The house was dark, and a little cold. It smelled like old books, and England.

'Come on, then. Careful.' England closed the door. 'Here, you stand still and I'll go put the lamp on.' He leaned Japan against the wall and went away for a moment. The room grew brighter, and in another moment he was back.

'There,' he said. 'That's better, isn't it? I'd better get you out of those wet clothes. You'll catch a chill.'

'I can't-' Japan clutched at his own uniform coat nervously. He certainly couldn't.

But, 'Hush,' England said. 'Over here. I'll light the fire, you sit down.'

He pushed Japan into a large easy chair and knelt in front of him to fiddle with the open fireplace.

As he bent, lamplight touched his hair, illuminating each fine strand. Japan looked down at him and his heart turned over in his chest. He felt decidedly strange, and he didn't like it.

He wanted to look away, but somehow he couldn't.

He stayed, watching England like someone teases a sore tooth with their tongue, until the fire caught and England rose. 'I'll be right back,' he said.

When he came back, he had changed into a burgundy colored dressing gown, and he had another one over his arm. His hair had been rubbed vigorously with a towel, and it stood up every which way on his head. 'Put this on,' he said. 'You can take your wet stuff off underneath.'

But Japan couldn't. In the end, England had to unbutton his uniform jacket for him, and slip it off his shoulders.

Japan blushed and turned his face away. He folded his arms over his chest, and then had to unfold them to put them into the sleeves of the dressing gown.

'You don't have anything I haven't seen before, you know,' England said. He took Japan's wet clothes away, and brought a towel.

When Japan reached for it, England pulled it back. 'Lower your head,' he said. 'I'll do it.'

'I can-'

'I'll do it for you.' England enveloped his head in the towel and rubbed gently. When he was done, he took the towel away and ran his fingers through Japan's damp hair, combing it. 'There,' he said.

Japan looked up at him.

England's green eyes met his. 'Oh, what the hell,' England said, suddenly sounding like America. And he kissed Japan.

What- Japan thought.

And then, oh.

Oh.

England leaned in, his hands sliding across the silk that covered Japan's shoulders, and as he did so his tongue delicately parted Japan's lips. He tasted of beer. It should have been unpleasant, but it wasn't. His mouth was warm, and his hands came up and cupped Japan's face, changing the angle of the kiss, deepening it.

I can't, Japan thought.

And then he thought, England is kissing me.

He remembered the lamplight on England's hair, the way it had lit itself like a flame. He remembered the way his chest had felt, and his breath caught and suddenly he was more dizzy now than he had been from all of the pints he'd drank. Just from England's mouth on his.

England pulled back. 'Come upstairs,' he said.

'I can't,' Japan whispered. He bit his lip, and realized that he trembled on the verge of tears. His eyes stung. Don't cry, he thought. You're a Japanese man, damn you, don't cry.

'Are you sure?' England asked with startling gentleness.

His eyes are so green, Japan thought. Like spring leaves. Like tea. Clear and green. Beautiful.

England's arms enwrapped him. 'Hey,' England said.

His mouth found Japan's again and he leaned him against the chair back, kissing him slowly and languorously, as if he wanted to do nothing else.

When Japan sighed and kissed him back, England leaned in close to his ear. 'Come upstairs,' he said again.

Japan remembered Greece's 'private lesson'. His body stiffened in England's arms. He didn't want to do that again, no matter how pleasant England's kisses were.

'We won't do anything you don't want to,' England said, as if he could read Japan's mind. 'I promise.'

'I…' Japan said. 'I… am not sure... that this would be a wise decision.'

It was the most diplomatic way he could think to say that it was not a good idea.

But, 'I don't want to be wise,' England said. He took Japan by the wrist, and suddenly Japan didn't want to be wise either.

'I am not myself,' he said anyway.

'I know,' England answered. 'And that's why I shouldn't do this. If you tell me to stop, I will.'

'But you want to.' Japan looked up at him, and saw an intensity in England's face that made him shiver.

'Yes. I want to,' England said.

'Why?' Japan asked.

'Because I've never seen you like this. Because I want to see more.'

'I'm frightened,' Japan admitted.

'Of me?'

'No. Of me.'

'Japan-' Suddenly England's arms were around him again, and England's face was in his neck. England was holding him too tight, but Japan didn't care.

'England,' he said. His own arms came up and wrapped around England.

'Come upstairs,' England said against his skin.

'Yes,' Japan answered.

England's bed was big enough for two. He sat Japan on the edge of it, and then sat down beside him. At first they just kissed.

England cupped Japan's face in his hands and leaned down slowly. Just an inch at a time, until Japan was desperate for the connection. When it came, England swallowed his gasp, and his tongue found its way into Japan's mouth.

Japan breathed England, swallowed him. England made small urgent sounds as they kissed. His hands tangled in Japan's hair and he leaned over until he had pushed Japan onto his back on the bed.

Somehow Japan's own hands ended up inside England's dressing gown. He felt bare flesh against his fingers, the smooth muscles of England's back sliding under skin.

There was an urgency to England's touches, but none to Japan's own. He moved his hands slowly, tracing patterns.

His eyes were closed, he did not need to see, only to feel.

When England's mouth left his, he opened his eyes again.

England brought his hands to the front of Japan's robe. Can I? his eyes asked.

In answer, Japan reached down and opened the robe himself.

Cold air touched his bare skin, but England's eyes were not cold, and his hands were not either.

Japan surfaced from a strange, dizzy dream feeling seasick, or as if he had worked too hard in the sun without drinking enough water. A small spike of pain pierced his temple, and he winced. He opened his eyes.

The ceiling above him was not familiar, nor was the cranberry colored quilt with its white border that was pulled up to his chin.

He stirred uncomfortably.

Where was he?

The last time he had woken like this…

A movement in the bed beside him brought his head around to that side, and he felt his mouth drop open as his cheeks heated. He was not alone in the bed, and from the slide of the quilt against his skin, he was naked.

A convulsive jerk pulled the quilt higher, and uncovered more of the body next to him His bedmate was obviously unclothed too. His hair was a cropped yellow spray against the pillow.

My god, Japan thought. What did I do…?

And who with?

But he was starting to remember. He had gone to get drunk, and England…

England had…

England.

This was England's bed. He and England had…

Green eyes opened and met his. Surprisingly, England smiled.

'I'm…' Japan said. 'I… I'm…' In his extreme embarrassment, his English deserted him. '_Sumimasen!' _he said desperately.

He started to get out of the bed and then remembered that he was naked. He froze.

England reached to the bedside table on the other side of the bed and opened its drawer. He removed a small bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he took a sip, then rolled over so that he was leaning over Japan on his elbow.

'Hair of the dog,' he said. And then he dropped his head and kissed Japan.

After the first horrified instant, Japan found himself kissing England back.

'I-' he said when they finally broke apart. 'I…'

'Just tell me one thing,' England said. 'Just one. Do you want to feel something?' He was sitting up now. The quilt had slid down, baring his smooth shoulders and the muscles of his arms and chest.

His eyes- vivid green in the sunlight that slipped through the bedroom window- were wide and intent on Japan's.

Japan's mouth opened, missing England's kiss.

'…Yes.' he said.


End file.
